"That's because it just ate. It might change its mind."
"It must be female," he teased.
Tess tossed her hair back from her face. "I think it's learned from experience not to be too trusting."
O-kay. Definitely in a mood.
Jarek shoved his hands in his pockets and eased forward, careful not to spook the woman or the cat.
"What's going on, Tess?" he asked quietly.
Her gaze dropped. "Nothing," she muttered. "Let me get you a box. You'll need something to take her in."
Her, he noted. So the stray was female. And possibly more important to its rescuer than he'd supposed.
"Are you sure you want me to?"
One shoulder jerked in a bad-tempered shrug. She turned from him and started down the dingy hallway.
"Sure," Tess said. "What am I going to do with a cat?"
He watched the cat trot after her, its bowed legs a pair of parentheses, its tail a question mark. He strolled behind them into the kitchen.
Tess grabbed a brown grocery bag from under the sink and began loading it with stuff.
"Seems to me like you've made a good start," Jarek observed. "What have you got there? Food, water bowl, litter—"
Tess arched her eyebrows. "I may not be much of a housekeeper, but even I know not to shut up a cat for the day without a litterbox."
"So you're just providing basic care."
"Yes."
"No sentimental attachments at all."
"No."
He grinned as she dropped a yellow mouse in on top of the other supplies. "So, what's the cat toy for?"
Tess blushed dull red. "I have to protect my furniture," she said defiantly.
"Good thinking," Jarek said.
She shot him a suspicious look, her eyes mutinous, her mouth wretched. Tenderness punched his chest. And a stab of impatience. Why did it matter if he knew or guessed she was a sucker for one bandy-legged stray?
"Tess. Why don't you keep the cat?"
"I can't."
His cop's mind considered reasons why. "Against the building rules?"
"No. I don't know."
He propped a hip against her countertop. "We had a dog when I was a kid," he offered. "Black-and-white Border collie. Sasha."
"What's your point?"
He wasn't sure yet. "I was just remembering. Pets can add a lot to your life."
Tess rolled her eyes. "Yeah. Like hair on the carpet."
"Warmth."
"Dry-cleaning bills," she countered.
"Companionship."
"Trips to the vet."
Jarek shook his head, both amused and frustrated by her determined cynicism.
"They're work, all right," he agreed easily. "Seems the three of us were always arguing over whose turn it was to walk the dog or brush the dog or feed the dog… Sasha slept on my bed, so it was mostly me who took care of her. My pop used to say it taught us responsibility."
Tess's mobile mouth flattened. "I didn't need a pet to teach me responsibility."
No, probably not. Jarek reviewed what he knew of her family: The father was a brawler, the mother was a drunk and the boy was a punk.
He kept quiet, watching her. And the cop's trick worked, because her words spilled to fill the waiting silence.
"It wasn't that I'm an animal hater or anything, you know. Because I wanted a pet. A cat. I liked cats. They're so pretty and self-contained. Only there wasn't the money, and there wasn't the time, and our father didn't want one in the house. And by the time he was gone, it didn't really matter."
"Because you were busy taking care of other things," Jarek suggested.
"Yes."
"Your brother," he said gently.
"Yes."
"And your mother."
Her gaze slid from his. Apparently there were some secrets he wasn't allowed to share, not yet. "Sometimes," she said.
She wedged another box into the grocery bag. Attracted by the rattle of food, the skinny black cat wound around her ankles. She reached down to pat it. Kitty flinched and then rubbed its head against her hand.
Jarek regarded them, the dark-haired, defensive woman and the half-starved, shrinking cat. They were probably both more capable of supplying affection than either of them realized.
"You could keep the cat now," he said.
Her chin lifted. "No. My life is fine the way it is. A cat would change things."
She was, he thought, frozen into a habit of self-denial, locked into rejecting the things she wanted, as if admitting the yearning would make her weak.
"That's the idea."
Tess scowled. "Look, you're the one who's into adding responsibility to your life. Take the cat home to your daughter."
He wasn't getting anywhere with her. Not on this. Not like this. So he shrugged and reached for his wallet. "Fine. What do I owe you?"
Confusion clouded that sharp, self-assured face. Good. He wanted to think he could confuse her. She sure as hell had him rethinking things.
"Excuse me?" she asked blankly.
"For the food and stuff. How much?"
"You don't need to give me anything."
"No, see, I do. You're so used to giving maybe you've forgotten how it's supposed to work. I don't expect something for nothing."
She turned from the counter and looked him up and down. "You don't have anything I want."
Under the compassion, temper sparked. "Let's see," he suggested, and moved in.
Chapter 10
Jarek felt the surprise in her tightened shoulders, tasted the heat of her mouth. He ignored the surprise and worked on the heat, coaxing that flicker into life, teasing her lips, engaging her tongue.
Tess made a sound at the back of her throat like the cat purring, and opened to him, flamed into cooperation in his arms.
Oh, baby.
He'd meant to offer comfort. He'd intended to challenge that stubborn self-sufficiency of hers. What he'd meant and what he'd intended got swamped in a rush of heat, drowned in a surge of desire.
She kissed him back, shallow and deep, pressed that firm, full body close to his, wrapped him in her long, strong arms and ran her manicured nails along the skin at his nape. He shuddered and sank into the warmth and the moment, losing his breath and a little of his mind as another wave hit him.
And then her arms loosened. He felt her struggling to get her head above water, felt her disengaging, mouth and mind and heart.
Jarek drew his head back and studied her, her half-closed eyes, the flush along her cheekbones, her reddened lips.
Her lashes fluttered. Her golden gaze fixed on his. And she said, in a sharp, self-mocking tone, "Let me get this straight. Are you actually offering me sex in return for my cat?"
Laughter and annoyance warred inside him. Laughter won.
"Let's just say I want to give you something," he said, his tone mild.
"Sex." She shook her head. "That is so like a guy."
"Don't let the shield fool you, honey. I am a guy. But this isn't about me."
Well, not entirely, he amended to himself.
"Sex is always about the man," Tess said with the authority of experience.
The flatness in her tone caught him like a blow in the dark. Unexpectedly shaken, he touched his lips to hers, striving to keep things light, to keep himself under control. "Then you've been having sex with the wrong men."
"No arguments there," she said wryly.
"Let me make it up to you." He kissed her again softly, feeling her lips warm and cling, willing her doubts away. "Let this time be all about you."
Tess was sure there was a flaw in his logic. Had to be. But she couldn't find it, not with her blood buzzing and her head humming from his kiss. His mouth cruised the line of her jaw to the sensitive place below her ear, and the nerve endings there signaled enthusiastically to the rest of her body that this was a good thing, she should go for it.
No, she shouldn't.
She wasn't even willing to take on the obligatio
ns of a cat. Spreading her legs for Jarek Denko had to be a bad idea.
His large, warm hands stroked up and down her back, and her knees and resolution weakened.
He hadn't said anything about obligation, she reassured herself, while pleasure flowed along her spine. No pressure. No expectations. This was all about her.
Sure it was.
Sex for men was always selfish. It was always about what they could get away with and, sometimes, who they could brag about it to. Didn't she have her own father as a brutal example? Hadn't she learned from her mother's sad quest for affection after Paul DeLucca abandoned them?
And to top it all off, there was her own experience at fourteen…
She shuddered, and Jarek raised his head and asked, "Problem?"
She felt a burst of gratitude for him, for his perception, for his concern. But of course she couldn't talk to him about it. She never talked to anyone about what had happened in Bud Sweet's police cruiser on that long-ago afternoon. She had put it behind her. Talking would only bring it back. Exposing herself to Jarek that way would be an act more intimate than taking off her clothes.
She shook her head mutely.
Jarek frowned, unconvinced.
She put her hand at the back of his head and pulled him down to her and kissed him full on the mouth.
"Trying to distract me?" he teased, but his eyes, his wonderful clear eyes, were serious.
"Yes," she said. "Is it working?"
"If you want it to. Whatever you want," he said. "Whatever you need."
The promise, the possibility, worked its way inside her, making some parts of her loose and warm and others tight and achy. As if he knew how she felt, what she needed, he brought his hand up and closed it over her silk shirt, over her peaked nipple, easing the ache.
No, making it worse. She bit her lip in consternation.
"Don't do that." His tongue glided along her lip, soothed the tiny sting. Her heart raced under his wide, seeking palm. "Let me," he whispered against her mouth, and bit into her like she was a jelly doughnut.
Desire surged, thick and liquid inside her. She moaned and sagged against him. And he held her, supported her with his lean, muscled arm behind her back and his hard, solid body against her front. Very hard, she thought, as he rubbed against her, but then he shifted his hips away.
She made a soft sound of disappointment, but it was difficult to protest when his mouth was hot and busy on hers and his hand squeezed and stroked her breast. Warmth lapped along all her nerves. She wanted more. She wanted all of him, the thick ridge she felt through his jeans, the exciting friction and the exquisite pressure.
He gave her more. His hand slid between their bodies, dispensing easily with her belt buckle and the snap and zipper of her jeans. She was grateful for his competence. How much experience did he have getting women out of their clothes one-handed, anyway?
He kissed her deeply, hungrily, stealing her breath and feeding her own hunger, driving her thoughts away. He felt so good, solid and warm in the places where she was empty and cold. Sensation filled her up, building, cresting, and he went on kissing her—he was a wonderful kisser—only now his hand was between her legs, against her skin.
The shock of his hot touch brought her conscience bobbing to the surface, like a body in the lake.
Oh, boy. She couldn't just stand here, propped against her kitchen counter, while he… No.
It wasn't fair.
It wasn't equal.
It was very arousing. To show her general support for all he was doing, she ran her hands over his iron biceps and made a vague grab for his butt. He obliged her by pressing closer. She sucked in her breath. Oh, that was good. But when she slid one hand around his waist and along his belt, he caught it, and kissed the palm, and replaced it on his shoulder.
Well. Okay. His shoulder was firm and warm. And when he got back to the business of kissing her, that was better than okay. He tasted like coffee and man, dark, strong flavors. He kissed her like it meant something, like she meant something, like he could go on kissing and touching her forever, his mouth warm and urgent, his hand hot and clever… Her breath came quicker. Her mind fogged.
Of course, he wouldn't be satisfied with that. No man would be satisfied with that for long.
She let her hands drift down, skimming soft cloth and hard muscle, to Jarek's belt buckle.
He took her wrist, both wrists, and moved them to the small of her back. A combination of panic and arousal balled in the pit of her stomach. Braceleting her wrists with one large hand, he kissed her throat.
She squirmed against him.
His breath hissed. He raised his head. "Honey, if you keep that up, I'm not sure how long I can last here."
She stared at him, the panic already fading. "This isn't some kinky kind of control thing, is it?" she demanded. "Because if I see handcuffs, I'm out of here."
Jarek's rare grin lit his face, and the last of her worry died. "No handcuffs," he promised. "Jeez, you're suspicious."
Despite his admiring tone, his words stung.
Tess raised her chin. "You want gullible, you're in the wrong kitchen."
He let go of her wrists to cup her face. His penetrating eyes were very warm and dark.
"I want you," he said, so simply and firmly she had a tough time disbelieving him.
"Then why don't you—"
"Do you want me to—"
"No." The answer embarrassed her, but she was far from ready for all that giving herself to Jarek Denko would imply.
"All right, then." He kissed the tip of her nose and then her mouth.
She felt herself sinking back into the soft, warm haze of desire. But doubt still blinked at the edge of her awareness, like a warning light in the fog. Maybe her sense of fairness was offended. Maybe she didn't trust him that much yet.
Maybe she didn't trust herself.
"What do you get out of this?"
Jarek raised his head again, as if he were actually considering his reply. His attention to her question made her feel validated, somehow. It made her like him very much.
"Well," he said slowly, "I get to touch you."
She struggled against the stroke to her ego, the shaft to her heart.
"Oh, and this is a thrill," she scoffed.
He gave her a crooked smile. "It'll do for now," he said. "Believe me, it will do."
His mouth brushed hers again, softly, and her heart lurched. Once, twice, a third time, lingering. Her jeans gaped open and her blouse was rucked up, but tough cop Jarek Denko was kissing her as delicately and respectfully as a boy at a seventh-grade dance.
Tess melted. She kissed him back tentatively, and then again, parting her lips. He angled his head. His tongue thrust into her mouth. She thought, Not a boy at all, and had another moment's panic. But it felt so good, what he was doing, the bold, sure claim of his mouth and the firm, unhurried seduction of his hands.
He reached around her, under her jeans, his touch exciting and a little rough. He shoved the fabric out of the way, grasping her hips and lifting her against the counter. She gasped at the sudden smooth cold under her rear, but Jarek was warm and close in front, spreading her thighs with his body.
She was all open, open and exposed. She squeezed her eyes shut in embarrassment, but his arm was steady around her, and his body was hard against her, and his shoulder was firm and reassuring under her cheek. He petted and stroked between her legs, over and over, making her arch and roll her hips against his hand. His touch seared her tender flesh. She buried her face in his neck, breathing him in, the scent of his skin and the starch of his shirt, and let his hands take her where she wanted to go.
Quick and slow, over and around, gliding and pressing, he touched and rubbed. Her breath dragged and slowed. Her heart stuttered and sped, and she almost got scared again, almost retreated in her mind from the sexual takeover of her body.
But when she opened her eyes, he was watching her, his touch hot between her thighs, his gray eyes coo
l on her face, Jarek, and that was enough to make her break, to make her cry out and shiver and shatter.
"Jarek!"
She clung to him, her body tingling and quaking, her pulse pounding like she'd just taken an aerobics class. His arm tightened around her. He was breathing hard, warm gusts on her ear, on her neck. All the little hairs on her nape rose in response.
He kissed her forehead and her hair.
"That wasn't so bad, was it?" he asked, his voice hoarse with strain.
It was incredible. He had to know it. She hadn't exactly kept her response to him secret.
"It was okay," she mumbled into his shirt.
His silent laughter rocked them both.
Tess smiled against the soft cotton knit, absorbing the steady thud of Jarek's heart and the rise and fall of his chest. His generosity stunned her. His strength cradled her. His warmth wrapped around her like a blanket. She had never felt so whole. So safe. So at home.
Not bad?
Tess blinked. It was a disaster.
She was falling—hard—for Jarek Denko.
Tess's small nestling movement ripped at Jarek's heart and just about wrecked his self-control.
He was holding his libido in check by the skin of his teeth and the grace of God. One more cute, snuggly move and he was going to forget his age and his job and his promise and jump Tess like a junkie desperate for a fix. He wanted her shirt gone, for starters. He wanted to lay her back on that Formica counter and—
Easy, altar boy.
This wasn't about what he wanted.
This was about Tess.
Jarek clamped his jaw. He stroked his free hand from her nape to the smooth curve of her bottom, over damp silk and warm skin. His fingers tightened on the curve, pressing her soft flesh, pulling her closer.
When a man found a good thing, his pop was fond of saying, he should hold on to it.
Jarek was holding on.
The good thing in his arms wiggled. Okay, so Formica had its drawbacks. Too hard. And her butt must be getting cold. Reluctantly Jarek released her, retrieved his other hand from her sweet, hot, secret places and let her tug herself to order. He hated to lose contact. He hated to lose even the shadowed sight of her. But when she fumbled with her zipper, he stepped back to make her task easier.
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